


Baby It's Just You I'm Dreaming Of

by sailorstkwrning



Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Community: no_tags, M/M, Post-Divorce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 21:40:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/715386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailorstkwrning/pseuds/sailorstkwrning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>WARNING THAT IS ALSO A SPOILER: The accidental marriage shenanigans occur while Spencer is essentially sleepwalking due to an Ambien freak-out, so he is impaired while Brendon is not.</p><p>Beta'd by the incomparable egelantier, who also suggested the ending.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Baby It's Just You I'm Dreaming Of

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING THAT IS ALSO A SPOILER: The accidental marriage shenanigans occur while Spencer is essentially sleepwalking due to an Ambien freak-out, so he is impaired while Brendon is not.
> 
> Beta'd by the incomparable egelantier, who also suggested the ending.

"Jailhouse Rock?" Brendon said from behind his laptop. "We could have dancing boys _and_ dancing girls, and –"

"No," Spencer said, flipping the bacon over with one hand and reaching for his mug of coffee with the other.

"But –" Brendon began, pushing the lid of his laptop down, but whatever he had been going to say was interrupted by the doorbell.

Bogart abandoned his vigil by Spencer's feet and went pelting down the hall, barking deep in his chest. Indie and Dylan followed him, their high-pitched yips cresting over his basso rumble.

Spencer turned the stove down and wiped his hands on his jeans. It was eleven o'clock on Tuesday morning, and as far as Spencer knew they weren't expecting anyone. The bell sounded again, but when Spencer moved to answer the door, Brendon jumped up and got in front of him, a strange, anxious expression on his face. 

Spencer arched an eyebrow at him. There was a lull in the barking, and Spencer heard the muffled rumble of a truck engine. 

"UPS," Brendon said, his expression clearing. "It's probably my CDs from Amazon, I'll get it."

"Okay," Spencer said, and leaned against the sink, drinking his coffee, while Brendon herded the dogs into the kitchen and very carefully shut the door behind him. 

Bogart sat down on Spencer's feet, and panted hopefully at the bacon. Spencer grinned at him and wiggled his toes until Bogart tired of being jostled around and got up. 

"What's up with your daddy today, Bogie? Why is he all wound up? And why the fuck is he suddenly determined to add Elvis to our set?" Spencer asked, leaning down to scritch Bogart behind the ears. "Hmmm? What's that about, boy?" 

Bogart sneezed and shook his head, and ran over to play tug-of-war with Indie. Spencer was washing his dog snot off his hands when Brendon reappeared in the kitchen with a large box in his arms.

"It's from Ryan," he said, setting it on the table and taking a couple of steps backwards.

"Is it ticking?" Spencer asked, turning the faucet off, and Brendon shot him a wry look.

They stood there and stared at it for a while, and then Spencer grabbed a nearby knife to cut it open. Some packing peanuts spilled out, much to the delight of the dogs. Spencer shooed them away and Brendon took a couple of steps towards the table. 

"It's fragile, whatever it is," Brendon murmured, easing a large piece of cardboard out from under the peanuts. 

Spencer made a agreeable noise and turned around to cut the stove off. The bacon was totally ruined, and he gave it all to the dogs.

"They're going to be sick if – what the _fuck_ , Ross?" Brendon said, and turned to face Spencer. 

He was holding a dinner plate. It was a nice dinner plate, mostly white with delicate little flowers curling around the rim. It looked vaguely familiar. 

"Is there a note?" Spencer asked, taking the plate. 

It was light, but solid. Something about the pattern was making Spencer's brain itch. He wondered if he'd seen it somewhere before. Maybe in his grandmother's china cabinet -- 

"Oh my _god_ ," Brendon muttered.

When Spencer turned to look at him, he was brandishing a wedding bell-shaped card covered in glitter. Brendon opened it, and Spencer saw _Congratulations!!_ scrawled across the inside in his own handwriting. 

\-- and the penny dropped. The reason the pattern on the plates was familiar was because Spencer had picked them out himself after spending an afternoon stalking around Nordstrom's in a rage looking for the perfect gift for Ryan's turned-out-to-be-fake wedding.

What Spencer could not begin to fathom was why Ryan was sending them back to him _now_. He looked down at the plate, at the box, and finally at Brendon, who was standing oddly still and looking at Spencer like he thought Spencer might explode.

"What?" Spencer said. 

Brendon set the card down unnaturally carefully, and spread his fingers out over the curve of the bell. He was wearing the fan ring on his wedding finger again, and it gleamed brightly in the sunlight. Spencer made a mental note to remind him to take it off if they decided to leave the house later in the day.

"What, um, do you remember about last night?" Brendon asked, his eyebrows swooping upwards. 

Spencer blinked at him. Brendon bit his lip but didn't look away.

"We had pizza for dinner, and then you finished that one melody," Spencer said, watching Brendon's face. "Shane stopped by with the dogs and the album pictures and schooled your ass at Wii bowling. He went home early because he and Regan had an early flight to Prague today. I did the dishes and you took out the trash. You stayed up to watch _The Music Man_ for the eighth bajillionth time, and I took an Ambien and went to bed."

"And after you went to bed?" Brendon prompted, bouncing one or twice on his toes.

Spencer stared at him, an uneasy feeling blooming in his stomach.

"I –" Spencer paused, took a deep breath, and thought carefully. "I read for a little while, jerked off, put the white noise machine on, and fell asleep. I woke up this morning when you dropped Dylan on my head."

"She _jumped_ on your head, because I couldn't carry two cups of coffee and keep her out of the room at the same time," Brendon corrected him. "But that's it? No dreams? Or nightmares?"

"No," Spencer said, irritation gaining ground on confusion. "What the fuck, Brendon, just tell me what happened already."

"You dragged me out of bed at 2 AM and made me drive you to Ralph's because we needed frozen peas," Brendon said. "I lost you when I stopped to get cantaloupe, and when I found you again you were singing _Walking in A Winter Wonderland_ with an Elvis impersonator in the dog food aisle."

"Frozen peas," Spencer repeated, unable to process the rest of it. "I hate frozen peas. What did I want frozen peas for at two in the morning?"

"I don't know, but you said if I didn't drive you'd go by yourself," Brendon said. "I tried to get you to wake up but you just got mad, and then I thought maybe you'd fall back to sleep on the way over, but you didn't, and I wasn't sure –"

"Okay," Spencer cut across the explanation. "I was singing Christmas carols next to the Alpo with Elvis, and then what happened?"

"He started to cry," Brendon said, flapping his hands at Spencer's horrified expression. "Not because of your singing! Apparently he had been supposed to marry some people in Griffith Park earlier in the evening, and first it looked like they weren't going to show up, but then they did, and then they had a big fight and the dude punched Elvis, and Elvis had to go to the ER, and that sucked, because the ER always sucks, and also there was a shoot-out in the neighborhood before he went in, and –"

"Brendon," Spencer interrupted again, trying to keep his voice even. "I don't need to know about Elvis' trip to the hospital."

"—anyway he – Elvis – had been really looking forward to the ceremony," Brendon continued, as if Spencer had not spoken. "And that one line in the song, the, you know, _you can do the job when you're in town_ , reminded him of it and that made him really sad. And then you got upset because Elvis was upset, and I grabbed you to try and get you out of there –"

"Thank you," Spencer said, with great sincerity.

" – and I guess he thought we were a couple, or whatever, because he asked if we wanted to get married, since he was in town, and you said yes –"

"Oh no," Spencer breathed.

"Oh yes," Brendon said, his voice developing a touch of, Spencer felt, extremely inappropriate glee. "I tried to talk you out of it, on the grounds that, you know, the dog food aisle, so not romantic. Which was when Elvis suggested we go stand by the ice cream so it would actually be frosty –"

"The ice cream," Spencer repeated.

"You thought that was a great idea," Brendon said, crossing his arms over his chest. "The two of you practically jogged on over there. By the time I got the cart turned around you had drawn a big heart on the tofutti freezer with our names in it and everything."

"And then we got married, by Elvis, in Ralph's. In the ice cream aisle." Spencer fought the urge to lean over and put his head between his knees.

"Well, not married for real," Brendon said. "Though we did write our own vows."

"Did we?" Spencer managed. 

"I promised to love, cherish and never sing Morrissey before 9 AM, and you were mostly the same only you promised to never make me watch more than three creepy movies in a row."

"I'm going to hold you to that one," Spencer muttered, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. 

_Okay_ , he told himself. _It's going to be okay. It's not like anyone put a picture of your dick on the internet, here._

"So am I," Brendon said. "Also you kissed me."

Spencer let his hands fall and raised his head slowly. Brendon's cheeks were pink but his expression was equal parts wary and unreadable. 

"I did not," Spencer said, mostly automatically. 

"You totally fucking did," Brendon said, fumbling in his pocket for his phone. "Hold on, Elvis sent me some pictures."

He tapped the screen a couple of times then handed it to Spencer. And there Spencer was, wearing his favorite Dodgers hoodie, his hair going in eight different directions, with his mouth attached to Brendon's face. They were leaning against a glass door ( _in the freezer section_ , Spencer remembered), and Brendon had his arms around Spencer's neck and his legs wrapped around Spencer's waist. There were a couple of random strangers in the background holding cartons of ice cream and wearing slack-jawed expressions.

"Are those your pajama pants?" was all Spencer could find to say.

"Yes," Brendon said, his tone sharpening slightly. "Yes they are. Everyone at Ralph's thought Stewie was the height of bridal fashion."

Spencer glanced up at him, abruptly cold all over as the weight of all of Brendon's possible reactions to the whole kiss/accidental wedding settled in. Brendon didn't look mad, though, or at least not really mad. Mostly he looked sort of amused.

"Sorry," Spencer said, looking back down at the screen. 

"It's okay, it was a good kiss," Brendon said, his mouth curving up into a smile as he uncrossed his arms, and Spencer let himself exhale. "I liked it. Elvis did too. Also he, um, may have posted that to Twitter after he sent it to me."

"Motherfucker," Spencer murmured, half his brain still stuck on the _I liked it_ part of the sentence.

Spencer had kissed dudes before, mostly in the context of games of Truth or Dare, and overall he had found the experience to be not-terrible. It just wasn't a thing he did very often. Brendon had kissed dudes before, too, Spencer was pretty sure, but it had never really occurred to Spencer to combine the concepts of himself and Brendon and kissing. He was mortified that he'd kissed Brendon in some sort of Ambien-induced freakout, but he was also kind of sad that he couldn't remember doing it.

"Yeah," Brendon said. "I was going to tell you, I was just waiting until you got through your first cup of coffee."

"So that's why you brought it to me in bed," Spencer murmured, pushing the thought of the kiss away for the moment. "I thought you just wanted pancakes for breakfast."

"I always want pancakes for breakfast," Brendon said, vaguely affronted, and Spencer had to look down to hide a smile.

After that they didn't talk for a while. Spencer sat back in the chair and drank the rest of his coffee. Dylan ran over and bumped her head against Spencer's ankle until he picked her up and settled her against his chest. She wuffled into his shoulder and he nuzzled the top of her head absentmindedly. Brendon moved around the kitchen singing _Don't Be Cruel_ under his breath while cleaning up counters that were already tidy, punctuating verses with jazz hands and hip swivels. Spencer watched Brendon dance to the music in his head and was grateful, again, that he had said _sure_ when Brent asked if he could bring the weird kid from his music class to band practice.

"So, Ryan sent us fine china," Brendon said, stopping at the table to put the plate back in the box. "Nice pattern."

"Thanks," Spencer said, shrugging one shoulder when Brendon gave him a puzzled look. "I, uh, picked it out for him, actually. Last summer."

"Oh," Brendon said, the edges of his mouth twitching up into a smile. "These are the Fuck You, Motherfucker dishes?"

"The _what?_ " Spencer said, startled into laughter, and Brendon's grin widened.

"That was what Zack called them," Brendon said, looking down at his fingertips resting on top the box, his voice softening as he spoke. "The Fuck You, Motherfucker dishes, to go with the Eat My Ass, Fuckface silverware."

"You sent Ryan silverware?" Spencer asked, readjusting Dylan so she wasn't standing on his crotch. "Is that in the box too?"

"I – we – Zack and I talked about it, but no, I didn't," Brendon said, fiddling with the flaps of the box to try and get it to close. "I called him instead."

Spencer bit down on the urge to say _Called him what?_ and waited for Brendon to elaborate.

"What did you say?" he finally asked, after several minutes of silence.

"I said a lot of things," Brendon murmured. "I have a feeling he repeated most of them back to me in the voicemail he left me this morning while I was walking the dogs. Speaking of saying things, what are we going to tell people about our, uh, Elvis adventure?" 

Spencer narrowed his eyes at the non-answer, but let it pass. Dishes aside, things were better now than they had been, but the peace was a fragile one. And if he had learned anything in the last two years, it was to leave Brendon and Ryan to their own devices when it came to their relationship with each other.

"Ambien, it's a helluva drug?" he offered, and Brendon laughed. "Dude, I don't see why we have to tell anybody anything." 

Brendon's eyebrows swooped upwards again, and Spencer sighed. If Ryan was sending them dishes, James Montgomery probably already had half his article written. And Spencer didn't even want to contemplate the contents of his various inboxes. _Your dick is still not on the internet_ , he reminded himself, though that didn't make him feel much better. 

"I know," he muttered. "Shit, I don't know, what do you want to say?"

Brendon rubbed his eyes and gazed out at Spencer from between his fingers.

"We didn't want to be the assholes that made Elvis cry?" he suggested. "And then we got carried away by the romantic atmosphere in the frozen food aisle? I'll make out with you in the microwave pizza section any time you want?"

"You will?" Spencer said, suddenly totally distracted from the problem at hand by the prospect of a second chance at kissing Brendon. "Really?"

Brendon lowered his hands slowly. 

"Yes?" he said. "I mean, if you really want to. We could also just go with our old favorite "no comment." Though, before we call anyone, would it be okay with you if I put the Fuck You, Motherfucker dishes in the garage? Because while I realize you and Ryan have –"

"Brendon," Spencer said, setting Dylan on the floor and opening his arms. "Come here."

Brendon's eyes got very wide, but he came over. When he got within reach, Spencer grabbed his hand and tugged him into his lap. Brendon squeaked and flailed and almost fell on the floor; Spencer wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close, painfully aware of Brendon's every shallow breath and nervous twitch.

"Thank you," he said. "For not letting me kill myself by driving while I was asleep, and for not punching me in the face when I kissed you. And also for the coffee this morning."

Brendon smacked Spencer in the chest with one hand and muttered something that sounded like _douchebag_ into Spencer's shoulder. Spencer made a mock pained noise and Brendon relaxed against him, his breathing growing deeper and steadier. 

Spencer opened his mouth to say _we'll call Pete and figure something out_ but "You'd really kiss me again?" came out instead.

"What, now?" Brendon asked, uncurling himself to look at Spencer. 

Spencer just looked back at him, because he had no idea where his brain had been going with that question, and then Brendon leaned in and kissed him. It was delicate, at first, just a brush of lips. Spencer was so startled he almost didn't react, but when he felt Brendon shift like he was going to pull away, Spencer grabbed him and held him steady. Brendon made a low, amused noise and slid a hand up over Spencer's shoulder and onto his neck, then licked and nibbled at Spencer's mouth until Spencer let him in. 

It felt – Spencer didn't really have the words. Not bad, exactly, but strange. He was warm all over and he was pretty sure he could feel each individual hair on both of his arms, but Brendon was comfortingly solid and steady in his lap. Spencer moved one hand to rest on Brendon's back and began moving it in slow circles. Brendon sighed into Spencer's mouth and kissed him a little bit more, then eased away. Spencer opened his eyes, saw Brendon's hopeful, worried expression and pulled him down for another kiss. That time they didn't separate until Spencer's phone started ringing.

**

 **WHAT HAPPENS AT RALPH'S, STAYS AT RALPH'S**  
By James Montgomery

Growing up in Las Vegas, Brendon Urie (vocals) and Spencer Smith (drums) of Panic! At the Disco heard plenty of stories about people who got married by Elvis. But neither of them ever expected to _be_ one of those people. Today, after a crazy late-night trip to Ralph's, they have entered that august company, and done so, they say, entirely by accident.

An accident caused, says Smith, by his recent struggles with insomnia while the preparations for their third record, their first as a twosome, continue to drag on. In an effort to regulate his sleep patterns, his doctor prescribed a sleep aid that turned out to have some unexpected side effects. Like a burning desire for frozen peas in the wee hours of the morning which necessitated a trip to Ralph's and led to their fateful encounter with Marsh Begonia, 72, Los Angeles' foremost Elvis Presley impersonator.

Begonia, who has performed over 10,000 weddings in the greater Los Angeles area since 1985, had stopped by the store on his way home from the emergency room after a ceremony he was officiating at in Griffith Park came to a violent, bloody end. Unharmed except for a black eye and some scrapes, Begonia was in search of treats for his Shar-pei, Colonel Parker, when he ran into Smith and, later, Urie. He and Smith bonded over the fussy desires of the animals in their lives - Smith and Urie, the unofficial dogsitters of DecayDance Records, live with a ever-rotating cast of tiny dogs while their friends and labelmates are on tour – and the work of Bing Crosby.

"Elvis did _Walking in a Winter Wonderland_ too," said Begonia, and sang the song to this reporter to prove it.

After that, fueled by medication and perhaps inspired by Begonia's uncanny recreation of Presley's distinctive vocal style, Smith insisted on taking the short walk to the frozen foods aisle and having Begonia join himself and Urie in holy matrimony. Hilton employee Lula Apple, 54, of Hollywood and professional surfer Gator, 25, of Malibu, both of whom had come to Ralph's in search of Rocky Road ice cream, served as witnesses.

"It was fun – not legal, as I told them – but a great time. " Begonia said. "I've married people in all kinds of places, but never in the grocery store. I got a charge out of it, that's for sure." 

If the post-"nuptial" photographs Begonia posted to Twitter following the ceremony are any barometer, Smith and Urie seemed to have enjoyed themselves as well. Reached at home this morning, the "newlyweds" confirmed the details of the story but declined to discuss how it might impact their personal and professional relationships in the future. Former bandmates Ryan Ross and Jon Walker, now of lead singer and guitarist, respectively, for up-and-coming band The Young Veins, similarly declined to comment.


End file.
